The Geographical Center of Nowhere
by almathea
Summary: Sara and Greg investigate a messy crime scene, and find more than they expected.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI. I don't own anything, not even a car...

**Chapter 1: **

**Scene 1**

Greg Sanders snuck quietly down the hall of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. He was hoping he could slip unnoticed and act like he was there the whole time. He was late, and he knew Grissom would have his head.

"Greg."

Greg jumped, and turned to see Grissom standing in the doorway to his office.

Greg giggled nervously. "Uh, hi. I um…" He was at a complete loss for a excuse.

Grissom waved it aside. "Yeah, you're late, don't let it happen again." He held out a piece of paper. "New assignment. You're with Sara. Homicide out by Blue Diamond."

"That's out in the middle of nowhere, right?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, and it's a really messy one. Lots of evidence to collect. You better go get started," Grissom replied.

**Scene 2**

The crime scene proved to be a broken down old farmhouse in, as Greg put it, "the geographical center of nowhere."

When they arrived at the scene, Sara looked at her cell phone. No service. "Great," she muttered.

The main part, well, the messy part, of the crime scene was in the upstairs back bedroom. The DB, or what was left of it, had been slumped in a mutilated heap in the corner. It had been removed and taken in for autopsy before they arrived. But the walls, floor, and ceiling around it were still covered in blood spatter.

As they walked in and took in the whole room, Greg was starting to wish he hadn't eaten right before shift. It was incredible how much blood one human contained.

They set about processing the room, before it became totally overrun by flies. They attempted to shoo away the offending insects. "No eating evidence!" Greg had yelled at them.

Both CSIs stopped dead when they heard crashing in the kitchen below. They were in the middle of nowhere. What would someone be doing all the way out there? Unless…

they drew their sidearms and moved slowly towards the bedroom door. A quick peek out, and they started down the hall. They crept carefully down the stairs, making every attempt to keep the steps from creaking.

As they moved to the kitchen, Greg positioned himself in front of Sara. He carefully leaned into the kitchen, where he saw a middle-aged man, his back to them, rifling through the cupboards.

Greg leveled his gun at the intruder. "Excuse me, this is a crime scene."

The man turned around casually, one hand on the counter behind him, as though he were hiding something.

"Oh, yeah. I heard about that," the man said. "Two people were murdered here "

"Two?" the CSIs asked in unison.

"Yeah," the man said calmly. "One in the bedroom…" His hand fumbled behind his back. "And one in the kitchen."

As he said this, he pulled out a pistol from behind him, aimed straight at Greg, and fired.


	2. Could it be any harder

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. Not CSI, not The Calling or their song "Could it be any harder".

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to update. I had to make sure that chapter two lived up to chapter one.

**Chapter 2: Could it be any harder**

Greg heard the gunshot, and was about to fire off a few rounds of his own when he felt the sharp, fiery pain near the bottom of his rib cage on the left side.

His head spun, he couldn't think. He could hardly breathe. He dropped his gun as his knees gave out and he collapsed against the wall.

Sara, who was still behind him, tried to shoot the perp, but he had already dashed out the back door. She heard an engine start up and then fade as the vehicle departed.

She hurried to Greg's side. He was in a crumpled heap next to the wall. She gently touched his shoulder and he let out a pathetic moan. He managed to pull himself in to a sort of sitting position. It was then that Sara felt the full gravity of the situation. Greg had his arms wrapped around his stomach, and his right hand was desperately clutching his ribs. Sara could see the blood that was already seeping between his fingers.

Sara tried to keep from panicking. She had to stay calm, had to help Greg. She carefully took hold of him and laid him down on his back. She looked around frantically for something to stop the bleeding. Seeing nothing, she placed one hand on top of the other and applied as much pressure as possible in a vain attempt to halt the torrent.

She looked down at Greg's face. His eyes were half open and he was disturbingly pale. As she watched, his eyes flickered open and he gave her a weak smile.

"Hey, " he whispered. "It'll be okay." His eyes started to close again. He let out a pained breath.

"No!" Sara cried. "Don't you dare leave me!"

Greg shook his head slightly. "I'll…always…be with you."

With that he closed his eyes. Sara couldn't help it anymore. She just broke down and cried, still clutching Greg's limp form.

_You left me with goodbye and open arms_

_A cut so deep I don't deserve_

_You were always invincible in my eyes_

_The only thing against us now is time_

_Could it be any harder to say goodbye and without you,_

_Could it be any harder to watch you go, to face what's true_

_If I only had one more day_

As Sara cried, she ran her hand over Greg's face. As her fingers slid across his neck, she felt it. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then she checked again, and it was still there. A pulse. It was weak and erratic, but it was there. But how long would it last?

_I lie down and blind myself with laughter_

_A quick fix of hope is what I'm needing_

_And how I wish that I could turn back the hours_

_But I know I just don't have the power_

_Could it be any harder to say goodbye and without you,_

_Could it be any harder to watch you go, to face what's true_

_If I only had one more day_

Sara was starting to wish that she hadn't pushed Greg away all those years. It probably wouldn't have changed what was happening now, but at least, maybe, she wouldn't have all these regrets.

_I'd jump at the chance,_

_We'd drink and we'd dance_

_And I'd listen close to your every word,_

_As if it's your last, I know it's your last,_

_Cause today, oh, you're gone._

_Could it be any harder…_

_Could it be any harder…_

_Could it be any harder to live my life without you_

_Could it be any harder, I'm all alone, I'm all alone_

_Like sand on my feet,_

_The smell of sweet perfume_

_You stick to me forever, baby_

_And I wish you didn't go,_

_I wish you didn't go, I wish you didn't go away_

_To touch you again,_

_With life in your hands,_

_It couldn't be any harder…_

Sara couldn't stop crying. Sure, there was a chance he'd live, but be realistic. They were in the middle of nowhere, with no cell phone service, and there was pretty much no way she'd get him to the car and back to town in time.

When she had all but given up, she felt someone wiping the tears from her cheek. She looked down and saw Greg, smiling up at her. She could see the pain in his eyes, but also a shadow of something else. Concern? He was worried about her?

"Don't cry," he whispered. "Everything'll be okay. I promise you that."


	3. The Usefulness of Window Treatment

Disclaimer: I still don't own CSI…Just wait until I win the lottery…

A/N: I need to thank my good friend Goldfish for her help on this chapter. :)

**Chapter 3: The Usefulness of Window Treatment**

Though Sara had found a vague bit of hope, Greg's statement made her want to cry anyway. She felt so lost and helpless, and even in his darkest hour, Greg was trying to reassure her. She half wondered if he even realized how much blood he had lost already.

Sara suddenly felt betrayed by the world. She had never been prepared for this. No one had warned her that this day would come. She had seen countless corpses, from all walks of life. But she had never expected that it would be someone she knew and cared about.

Suddenly, she mentally kicked herself. He wasn't dead yet, and there _was_ something she could do. There was still hope.

Sara focused back on Greg. He was attempting to examine his wound, but due to its location, he was having to partially sit up, which sent a new wave of pain through his entire body. He gave up on trying to look, and laid back down. He looked up at Sara, and he could see that she was thinking hard. Did she have a plan for getting out of here?

The next thing he knew, Sara was starting to get up from her kneeling position. She lifted one of her hands and moved his own hands nearer to the wound.

"Hold this," she instructed, and before he knew it, she had pushed his hands into place and jumped up.

"What? Where are you going?" He asked as she began running around the kitchen.

She didn't answer, only continued her search for something unknown.

Then she saw it. It was the Holy grail as far as she was concerned. She ran to the window over the sink, and ripped down the curtains. An evil laugh escaped as she began tearing the curtains into two or three inch strips.

Greg stared at her quizzically until she ran back to his side. Then it dawned on him what she was doing.

Sara paused a moment in her haste to ponder exactly how she was going to do this. Then she took two of the strips and folded them together into a thick mass. With it she slid Greg's hands aside and pushed it against the bullet hole. Then she took the remaining strips and wrapped them around to hold the padding in place. She tied the ends and then sat back a moment to admire her work.

Now, how to get him to the Tahoe?

"Can you stand?" She asked. Greg sort of shrugged in response. He wasn't betting on it, but he'd try anyway, just because she asked.

Sara started to pull him to his feet, but alas, his lags gave out and it took every molecule of her being to keep him from crashing back to the floor. She carefully lowered him back down, then she sat back and sighed.

"We could really use a plan B right about now," she muttered.

She glanced into the living room in search of inspiration. She found it, once again, in the form of curtains. Oh, but these were no ordinary curtains. No, these were huge, heavy draperies that had been keeping the Nevada heat out.

She repeated her earlier activity of yanking on the curtains to rip them free of their hanger. However, she was not expecting the curtain to come flying towards her, to drape itself over her head.

Sara stood a moment in her curtain tent, noting how ridiculous this must look and how hilarious it would be, were the situation not so serious.

She pulled the curtain off her head, making her hair fly all over. She took the curtain and spread it out near Greg. Bit by bit, she slid him onto the curtain. Then, she dragged him through the living room and out the front door to the awaiting Tahoe . mentally, she congratulated her resourcefulness, while at the same time reminded herself that they weren't out of the woods yet. She considered the irony of the thought, since there weren't really any trees around.

Once she had dragged Greg to the side of the Tahoe, she opened the back door, and then stopped. How the devil was she going to get him into the back seat?

After a bit of thought, she hauled him to his feet in such a way, that when he started to collapse, he fell onto the seat. Unfortunately, as he fell, he hit his head on the top of the door frame. Sara muttered a string of expletives, not being able to decide on one.

Soon, Sara had Greg maneuvered into the back seat. She picked up the curtain, wadded it up, and stuffed it on the floor beside him. She had a feeling she'd need it again.


	4. The long road

Disclaimer: And I still don't own CSI…

A/N: Gotta give some credit to good ol' Goldfish for this chapter too.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Scene 1**

Sara quickly climbed into the front of the Tahoe. She turned around to look back at Greg. He was staring blankly the ceiling.

"Hey", she said suddenly. "You still with me?"

Greg's eyes rolled over to look at her. He gave her a little smile.

"For now," he replied. He didn't seem too sure of that at the time. He even looked surprised to learn that he was still alive.

Sara took off driving down the road like a bat out of hell. She pushed the speedometer as far as it would go. She could only hope it would be enough.

Somewhere along the desolate stretch of road through the desert, Sara had a sudden need to make sure Greg was still hanging on. But in order to do that, he had to lean all the way around the seat to see him. Unfortunately, as she did this, she pushed against the steering wheel, turning it to the left.

He was still there, sure enough. Then she heard the horn. She turned back around to see that she was heading into the wrong lane, where a large truck was barreling towards her, the driver laying on the horn.

Sara let out a little shriek as she jerked the Tahoe back into the right lane. She heard a thud and a moan, and felt something hit the back of her seat. She glanced back to see Greg now on the floor of the back seat.

"Shit!" she yelled for no apparent reason. It was just one more thing to add to her already bad day.

* * *

**Scene2 **

The Tahoe screeched to a halt in front of the hospital. Sara didn't see anyone around to help her, so she resorted to the method she used to get him in the car in the first place. She ran around to the back door and pulled out the vast curtain. She spread it out on the ground and drug a now unconscious Greg out and laid him on the curtain. Then she grabbed an end and started dragging as fast as she could go. She got to the emergency door and went in. in the midst of the pandemonium that was already present, several heads turned and the room became silent.

A nearby nurse looked at Sara like she was crazy.

"Excuse me miss, what are you doing?"

Now Sara returned the look of accused insanity.

"What does it look like!" She gestured wildly towards Greg. "I need some help here!"

Suddenly there was movement. Lots of it. People ran around, and Greg was taken away somewhere. Soon, Sara was left virtually alone, standing next to the rumpled curtain. Abruptly, she sat down on the curtain, and stared blankly into space. There was nothing else she could do now.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's such a short chapter. It just felt like the best place to end it. 


	5. Waiting

Disclaimer: Still don't own CSI. Heck, I don't even own Charlie Brown or his teacher. (Just keep reading if you're confused)

A/N: Just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'd also like to make a little note pertaining to some of those reviews. Several people have pointed out that an actual crime scene would probably have cops roaming around, and I had left them out. I realized this when I wrote the story, but the rest of the story relies on them being at the scene alone, so I had to ignore protocol, and skew logic a little, just to bring you, the readers, a nice and dramatic tale. If they were at a good, safe crime scene, nothing would happen and the story would be over before it started. :)

**Chapter 5: Waiting**

Reality came back to Sara slowly. She gradually realized where she was, and remembered what had happened. She became suddenly aware that someone was talking to her, though they sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher, just a jumble of slurred, incognative noises. Then it began to make sense, words appeared and formed themselves into sentences.

Family? Whose? Oh. Greg's. "I don't know…" she said quietly. She wasn't even sure where they were. Greg had never talked about his family. The closest thing he seemed to have was…the lab! She should call them, let them know what happened!

She reached for her cell phone. Ha! A signal! She dialed Grissom's number. "Hey. Yeah, I'm fine, how—" _Get to the point!_ a voice in her mind told her. "Never mind that! This is important! I'm at the hospital. Yes, I'm OK. It's Greg…" she sighed. "Just come down here, I'll explain everything when you get here."

She hung up the phone and quietly looked around. There were empty chairs all around the room, but she felt reluctant to leave her seat on the curtain on the floor.

Soon, Grissom arrived with Catherine. The others would come when they could get away from their cases. They wanted to know what had happened, and Sara told them as best she could. Of course, when the others arrived, they wanted the story too. So, Sara had to tell it again, but this time Grissom and Catherine helped out when the particular chain of events slipped her mind.

Then, they sat in the waiting room, doing what everyone did there: waited.

* * *

A/N: OK, so it's more of an interlude than a chapter, but the story would lose it's integrity if I dragged it long enough to make a proper chapter. 


	6. Futureland

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, I'm just borrowing it for a minute. I'll bring it right back. I also don't own Kentucky Fried Chicken, or anything affiliated with them.

A/N: I'm making up for the shortness of the previous chapter by posting this one right after it.

**Chapter 6: Futureland**

In a stark white, nearly empty room, Greg opened his eyes. He didn't' feel groggy, only confused. The thing that perplexed him the most was the silence. He thought there'd be beeping machines, all with their own little noises, as if arguing which was the most important device. But, their chattering was absent. _Where am I?_ he vaguely wondered.

He got to his feet, and walked to the window. Suddenly he stopped. The pain. Where was it? It was gone , as though it had never been there. Though this struck him as odd, he wasn't about to complain.

He pulled the curtain aside, and looked down onto the street. Cars rolled along, happily puffing out exh—Wait. There was no exhaust, no rolling. The vehicles seemed to just float along smoothly.

What was going on? Where was he? More importantly, when was he?

He turned around and headed for the door. As he walked he glanced down at his clothes. He was still wearing his regular clothes, as opposed to typical hospital garb. The only thing that changed was that his shirt was no longer bloody. It didn't even have a hole in it.

"Oh God, I've been abducted by aliens!" he yelled as he ran from the room.

He hurried down corridors as empty as the room. There were no people, no gurneys, no machines, no signs of life at all. _At last!_ he thought when he made it down to the receptionist desk. There was a young woman sitting there who looked up when he approached.

"Finally," she muttered as she handed him a large manila envelope. "They this for you."

"Who?" he asked as he opened the envelope. Inside was a video tape. He stared at it quizzically until she pointed to a nearby door.

"You can watch it in there."

He nodded and went in the room, which contained a TV, VCR, and a handful of chairs. He put the tape in and sat back with growing curiosity.

The screen came to life and showed Sara, looking older and a little nervous.

"Um…hey. If you're watching this it means you finally woke up. They said we should make a tape of the things we wanted to say, to let you know some of what happened in the time you missed. Uh…the current date is June 24th, 2008."

_What!_ Greg's mind screamed. _When is it now?_

On the TV, Sara went on, "Last October, a victim's family who didn't like the answers we gave them besieged the lab." She looked down at the floor. "Nick was killed. Um…Catherine got transferred to Chicago in January. Now it's just me, Warrick, and Grissom. And you, I guess, depending when you finally see this."

Greg stared at the TV with disbelief, then suddenly realized that there were tears running down his face. Everything he knew was different, people he knew were gone. Everything was just plain _wrong_. Then he wondered, how long ago was that tape made? How much has changed since then? And when the hell did they start making floating cars!

Next, Grissom appeared on the screen. "I was elected to tell you that your uncle, Colonel Sanders, has died." He paused. "But, there's good news. He left some stuff for you." He picked up a fried chicken bucket off the floor, and started rummaging through it. "Ah, here it is." He held up a handful of wrinkled money. "Forty-three dollars and thirty-four cents. But wait, there's more. Forty thousand tons of fried chicken. And that includes crispy strips and popcorn chicken." Grissom nodded matter-of-factly. "You're a lucky man."

_Huh?_ Greg wondered. _Since when was I related to Colonel Sanders? Could I have gotten free chicken all those years?_

Then Warrick appeared to say his piece. "Uh…I know you've just got a lot of bad news, but I've got some more. Um…I needed a clean shirt a few months ago, and there was one in your locker. I didn't think you'd need it any time soon…" He looked terribly ashamed of himself. "I—I got barbecue sauce on it. It wouldn't come out. Can you ever forgive me, man?"

Greg just looked at the screen like it, and all that was on it, was completely insane. _Maybe I'm the one who's insane_, he vaguely thought.

The screen went blue, signaling the end of the recording. Greg put it back in the envelope and walked out of the room. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he had to get _out_. Maybe he'd go to the lab, see what else had changed.

He wound up walking all the way to the lab, because he was afraid of the hovering taxis. He found the lab, right where it was supposed to be. He didn't see anyone around, but that didn't really surprise him, not today. He went inside, and wandered the halls. Everything was still there, as though the people had just left for the day. _Maybe it's a holiday_, he thought, since he had no idea what day it was. He headed down to the locker room and opened his locker. Just as he had left it, except…there was a stain on the shirt hanging in there. "Did you try bleach?" he asked no one.

Since it was apparent that there was no one here, he decided to head home. If it was still there, anyway. He set out walking again, trying to find his way home when all landmarks were different. In the years past, someone had gone and added three more streets in the course of his route, and they kept throwing him off. He finally reached his domicile, which looked a little broken down next to all the new buildings around it. When he approached his door, he stopped a moment. _Crap, do I still have my key?_ A little digging in his pockets proved that it was still in his possession.

This was not as he had left it. It looked like someone had cleaned since he had been there, but not any time after that. Things were put away, dishes were clean, but there was a thick layer of dust on everything. He looked around for somewhere to sit down, but everything was filthy. He walked to the couch, flipped one of the cushions over, and sat down on the clean side. He stared blankly at the air in front of him. He felt lost and confused, and he still didn't know what day it was.

He went outside and looked around. Finally he spotted a woman walking…something…with fur. He cautiously approached her. "Excuse me, what is today's date?"

She looked at him strangely, but answered anyway, "July 14th."

"What year?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"2012," she replied and continued to stare at hi warily.

Greg felt his knees start to give out. "Um…OK. Thanks."

She continued on her way and he hurried back inside. He looked in the bathroom mirror, and his jaw dropped. He hadn't aged a day in seven years. He went back to the living room, sat down in the middle of the floor, wrapped his arms around his knees, and started rocking back and forth. Without really realizing it, he also started to cry, out of grief, confusion, frustration, and emotions he didn't even know existed.

Suddenly the phone rang. _Who the hell could that be?_ Greg turned his head to stare it for a few seconds, then he sort of crawled over to it. He picked it up. "Hello?"

He heard a familiar voice on the other end. It was Sara. She was saying something, but she was whispering and he could understand the words. She sounded like she was, or had recently been, crying.

"What?" he asked softly.

She repeated it, a little louder, and there was no mistaking what she said. "Wake up."

_What? I am awake. What the—_

"Please wake up."


	7. Back From The Future

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, the year 2012, or anything else.

**Chapter 7: Back From The Future**

Suddenly, Greg's eyes snapped open. He sat part way up, but was stopped by a sharp pain. He turned and looked at a bewildered Sara who was sitting by his bed. She started to say something but before it could escape her throat he leaned over, ignoring the pain, and hugged her.

"What—" she started, but he cut her off.

"I heard you," he said excitedly. "I was in my living room, and was all confused. And then you called me. The phone rang and I wondered who would call me in 2012, 'cause everyone was gone. But it was _you_."

She stared at him like he was out of mind. "What? 2012? What are you talking about?"

He smile slowly faded. "I'm not really sure. I was sure I was there, but apparently I was here…sure as hell not in Kansas anymore…" He faded off into muttering, then looked up abruptly. "How long have I been out? What's happened? Where is everybody?"

"Calm down," she said softly. "You've been in a coma for two weeks. Nothing…major…has happened. Everyone else is at the lab, or out at scenes…"

"_Everyone_ else?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes…" she said uncertainly.

"Oh good," he said calmly.

Eventually, he told her the entire story, from the beginning, of where _he_ had been for the past weeks. Of course, he had to tell it again for everyone else when they came by to see him.

Before long, he was back in his own home, where everything was as it should be. There was not seven years worth of dust on everything. But, someone had done the dishes.

The End

A/N: Ahh, my first completed fic. So, what did everyone think? Please review on the overall story, but be nice. I have low enough self-esteem already.


End file.
